


Between the Lines

by thranjewel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 11:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4519644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thranjewel/pseuds/thranjewel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was really going on between Thranduil and Tauriel in Desolation of Smaug? Was there more to their tense conversation than immediately meets the eye?</p>
<p>According to this fic, lurking just below the surface was a complex mix of love, hurt, and betrayal.</p>
<p>So many of the best stories happen between the lines, and perhaps this is one of them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Debt of Love

**Author's Note:**

> -So this fic is a re-imaging of this scene between Thranduil and Tauriel in The Desolation of Smaug: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeLj8I-7o4E and I own none of the original dialogue or characters or... anything, actually.
> 
> -The fic is two chapters: the first is the DOS scene from Thranduil's perspective, the second from Tauriel's.
> 
> In all honestly, this is kind of just me trying to force the Thranduil/Tauriel pairing into cannon because I love it and all its great potential for drama. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it! (I also really love feeback!) :)

He always knew when it was her.

Though little sound preceded her arrival, he was always aware of her presence before she came into sight. His was a sensitivity honed by long Kingship; no noteworthy movement in his kingdom went undetected. It was as if some powerful force time had bent to his will, allowing him this sense. Yet it was not a sense in its own right; rather a method by which to join them, to read between them the matters of joy, and of concern, within his people and realm. Truth be told however, this sensitivity was abstract at best: some days he could feel each leaf that drifted from branch to forest floor, but most little more than the depths of his own, ancient grief.

But always her.

He could always sense her. Her movements flittered through his consciousness, delicate and rhythmic against the pressure of his thoughts. When she was distant the flicker was gentle, and when she was near it grew to a hum; as it did now.

He was standing by the pool in one of his chambers, admiring the water’s reflections on the knotted walls, when he felt the familiar sensation. His mind had been in turbulence since the arrival of the dwarves; his sense muddled, he found himself always checking over his shoulder, trying to catch site of whatever shadow was clouding his mind. He was pleased to feel Tauriel approaching, maybe clarity would follow. He waited until he heard the echo of her footfalls before speaking:

_“I know you’re there. Why do you linger in the shadows?”_

His words were dishonest. To him, she was never in shadow.

_“I was coming to report to you.”_

About those cursed beasts, of course. He resented them; the danger they presented to his forest, his people. To the brave elves who fought them, risked their precious lives. Elves like her. He resented above all things the possibility of loss.

_“I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed not two moons’ past.”_

He knew he did, and knew they had destroyed it. But they came back. They always came back _._

_“We cleared the forest as ordered, My Lord, but more spiders keep coming up from the South. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Guldor. If we could kill them at their source-”_

_“That fortress lies beyond our borders. Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task.”_

He spat the words out rapidly, trying to remain impassive.  But in his mind he screamed. He could not bear to consider sending his people to that infernal place. He thought of his warriors venturing off bravely, of them falling to the ground; he thought of their immortal blood spilling into that poisoned soil. This image of horror he acknowledged with grim determination. History would not repeat under his rule.

_“And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?"_

She paced as she spoke, and his heart grew heavy in his breast. It would take all his strength to refuse the terrible thing she asked of him. She wanted him to send them—to send her—to fight on that cursed ground. A thankless task, rewarded only oblivion, in grief.  With some willpower, he turned his mind from a vision of fiery hair streaked with red; of pale skin stilled to wax; of the flittering at the edge of his consciousness snuffed out. He knew his ancient heart, his will to remain, would not withstand such a sight.

_“Other lands are not my concern.”_

He was intentionally cold, but the anger in her eyes still affected him. She would not understand his reasons for caution. She was bright, young, filled to brimming with disdain for the world’s injustice. This he admired about her; she felt deeply for the lives of all things. Just as he had, long ago. But experience had taught him such care was only effective if reigned in, confined to a place in it could make a practical difference. He would not make the mistakes of his father by overextending his forces. However, nor did he wish to be cruel to her. But if it was to be a choice between the two, he refused to let kindness be his weakness. That position was reserved already for the isolationism that guarded both his kingdom and heart; for neither would be hurt again. Or this was what he always tried to believe, even as the hope fade from her eyes and his heart ached.

_“The fortunes of the world will rise and fall, but here in this kingdom we will endure.”_

He hoped that somehow this would give form to the great story that lay untold between them. That it would convey all he was unable to say: _‘This kingdom will endure because it must. We must live. I cannot protect everywhere, and I cannot protect everyone. But I can protect here. I can protect us. Though the ugly world has beaten from me any debt I once I owed to repair it, my debt to this kingdom continues’._

If only he could say it: _‘It is a debt of love, Tauriel.’_

She did not understand. His hopelessly encoded message remained indecipherable. With a devastating look of disappointment, she turned to leave. Finding himself unable to bear this, he blurted the first thing that came to mind:

_“Legolas said you fought well today.”_

Legolas had not said that, at least not of his own accord. Only that the nest was cleared and dwarves captured effectively, and each guard had performed their duty well. It had been he who asked for further information on Captain Tauriel's performance. She didn’t need to know this. He was by now regretting the impulsive remark, but for a moment he had been concerned only with his desperate need for her to stay, if only for a few precious minutes.

It worked; she paused and turned around. Even in the dim light he could see a smile light her beautiful face. How lovely that smile was! He continued speaking without thought, hoping to see it grace her face a second time.

_“He has grown very fond of you.”_

Immediately after speaking, he realized with a jolt what he had implied. He was mortified all the more because he had let slip the truth. Disregarding, of course, that he was attributing it the sentiment to the wrong elf. Long had he cared greatly for Tauriel, and long had been his silence. How he could have so unthinkingly have not only broken that silence, but done so without admitting anything? Using his son as a scapegoat in this way made him feel wretched, but what could be done?  He thanked the Valar for the centuries of practice at appearing cold and calm despite the circumstance.

_“I assure you, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain in the guard.”_

How true that was. And how awful he was to continue with this deceit. But telling her the truth was not an option. It was not proper. He would not have his reputation, his relationship with a valuable captain, or his heart hurt for the sake of pleasing his wayward emotions. So he would hide, and he would lie, just as he had always done. He knew that one strong feeling is most easily disguised by its opposite, eye contact is how your true feelings betray you, and that wine is an invaluable assistant in remaining calm. These were his tactics, and he currently had the means to use them all.

_“Perhaps he did once. Now, I’m not so sure.”_

His heart thumping painfully, he crossed the room to pour himself a glass of wine. He took a deep breath, trying to convince his mind and body to still with the sheer force of air. He would hide behind anger, distain, for these came so easily to him. He would be the disapproving father.

_“I do not… think you would allow your son to be pledged to a lowly Silvan elf?”_

He almost breathed a sigh of relief; she had taken the words of his excuse right from his mouth. She was far too perceptive. Perhaps she had thought about pledging to Legolas before? He shuddered at the thought, but a small voice in his mind reminded him that Legolas was not the only royalty to whom her thought might have strayed. He drowned this voice in another gulp of wine.

_“No, you are right. I would not.”_

Now more confident she had not seen through his words, he put down the wine, and couldn’t help himself but take it further. Again sending her hopeless, coded messages through a facade of distaste. 

_“Still, he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none_.”

‘ _Me_!’ The small voice screamed _‘do not give me hope where there is none!_ '. His logical mind did not want hope, and rejected her always for fear of her sister pain. Yet the voice and his heart chimed _‘give me a sign there is hope!'_.    
Subtly, he turned his head, trying catch a glimpse of her face to see which of his lines she had read between. But her back was to him, and so he failed to see the hurt and confusion tear over her fine features. This was a game of hurt. Of mixed messages and false comforts. This was a game of deceit. 

But despite all confusion, he had always known when it was her.


	2. Bowstring Mind

The sound of her footfalls echoed faintly, sketching with sound the vastness of the Elvenking’s Halls. She strode with purpose. Her mind whirling; going over the words she would say to the Elvenking himself when she arrived at his chambers. _“Just say it.”_ she thought to herself, _‘Just say it. You can do it. Tauriel, you are a respected Captain of the Guard. He must take heed of your suggestions’_. 

As she approached the entrance to the chamber, anxiety prickled in her chest. She slowed, suddenly unsure of herself. Descending the steps she tried to cease her heart’s panicked beat; to no avail. She stopped. This was futile. No matter how she put it, he would never agree; never even listen!   
Gripped by the fear of humiliation, she turned back up the stairs. _‘This is silly’_ she thought ‘ _I’ll talk to the other guards, they can talk to him instead—no!”_ She stopped again, feeling her anger resurface. _‘This is about the safety of our realm and our people. We must increase our defence against the spiders. Clear Dol Guldor. I won’t see our people hurt.’_  

Feeling again that her cause was justified, she began walking. She rounded the final of the staircase’s many fanciful twists, only to come to dead halt again. He was right there! She retreated a little. She could see the edge of his robes—beautiful, flowing—and the back of his hair; glistening as if captured starlight. She took a few deep breaths, a vain attempt to calm her fluttering heart. Maybe she should just leave—he hadn’t seen her yet, and-

_“I know you’re there. Why do you linger in the shadows?”_

Startled, she jumped. How had he seen her? She was still on the staircase, hidden by its gloom. Often she felt this prickle of unease, as if he was always expecting her long before she arrived. Unsettled though she was, she didn’t have time to dwell. She was too busy trying to appear calm as she replied.

_“I was coming to report to you.”_

This was a lie.She was coming to challenge him. But her courage, normally unflinching in her breast, always quivered in his presence. She forced herself not to acknowledge why, exactly, this was. Her feelings towards her King, truth be told, went deeper than simple respect or admiration, and at moments of disagreement such as this, she pushed them as far away into her mind as possible.  

_“I thought I ordered that nest to be destroyed not two moons’ past.”_

Her initial hesitance was immediately cured by these tense words, and she felt the injustice of it flare inside her. She began to pace, dispelling nervous energy; angry energy. He had to hear her out.

_“We cleared the forest as ordered, My Lord, but more spiders keep coming up from the South. They are spawning in the ruins of Dol Guldor. If we could kill them at their source-”_

_“That fortress lies beyond our borders. Keep our lands clear of those foul creatures. That is your task.”_

He spoke so matter-of-factly she almost missed the panic in his manner. What was it he was so frightened of? Surely not the spiders themselves, nor any of the forms such evil may take; he was a fearsome warrior. She felt for a moment as if they were not alone in the chamber. As if it were shared by ghosts; the remnants of ancient of horrors, which flickered in his crystalline eyes for a second, before retreating back into the tombs of his mind.  
She, however, would not be controlled by such spectres. She would wrench his mind from the past somehow, for it could not dwell there forever. Yet so long had he lingered that even its beauty likely now seemed cruel to him. She felt deep sorrow for him. Never would she let this happen to her; the future was where he mind lived, searching ever for possibilities, waiting tense at the end of a bowstring to be sent forth.

 _“And when we drive them off, what then? Will they not spread to other lands?”_  

This was reasonable. Painfully, glaringly reasonable. If they did not deal to the spiders, the spiders would breed, they would spread, wreak havoc. They would hunt, and they would kill. And right now they had the opportunity to prevent these horrors.

_“Other lands are not my concern.”_

He spoke this bitterly, with such profound coldness that Tauriel felt her heart chilled. Could he not see that other lands were not just matters of territory? Lines drawn on maps were attempts to divide an indivisible world, a world that truly belonged to everyone. The lives of each good creature in this land was sacred, and should be protected.

_“The fortunes of the world will rise and fall, but here in this kingdom, we will endure.”_

What did that mean? Nothing else mattered as long as the Woodelves of Mirkwood lived on, huddled in halls, too scared to visit even their own forest? Surely something was underlying his coldness, but how could she ever figure out what? He was far too cryptic. Or maybe she was still too young.  
He was beginning to sound like Galadriel—who's roundabout manner they had laughed at together on several occasions—and she would make a point to tell him this, when she had forgiven his cruelty, and he was next in one of his rare, genial moods. As she thought, she was surprised to find herself feeling deflated; her righteous anger fizzled to pity. 

He turned his head away, as if expecting the thing air to reveal some divine sign explaining the profound emptiness within him that must cause such nonchalance. No—she corrected herself. Thranduil was not uncaring, despite how hard he tried to have everyone believe it. He just isolated the care he did have, restricted it to the small area within and around his Halls. He refused to feel, and refused to give in.  
She would not make him yield on this day, she saw now the futility of such an effort. But nor would she give up; for she could be every bit as stubborn as he. He may have had experience on his side, but he was held down by it. She was free to sail beyond, and saw always the future. In this future, there would not be a place within Middle Earth that was "other lands". Such divisions clouded the truth. The fortunes of the world  _were_  the fortunes of Mirkwood. Mirkwood did not exist in isolation, no matter how hard Thranduil tried to make it.

She attempted to sum all this up by a respectful, yet unsatisfied bow of her head. She turned to leave, already thinking about how to convince him of her ideas. She would first have to talk to the other captains, and definitely Legolas, get them all presenting similar propositions to him. Or perhaps they were better to lobby in a group? She would begin by consulting the library to see how-

_“Legolas said you fought well today.”_

She stopped dead in her tracks, shocked. She hadn’t expected him to speak again—her mind had been far away—let alone to praise her. Had they not just had, be it civil and underhanded, a disagreement? Maybe he was regretting his coldness? Confused and flattered, she grappled with words, trying to find something to say, and couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at her lips. Legolas was too kind. She made a note to tease him for it later.

_“He has grown very fond of you.”_

The smile fled from her face, and shock spread through her body like ice. She was not only surprised, but betrayed. He couldn’t really be implying…? Legolas was one of her most cherished friends but... No, surely no. She did not want to hear of Legolas’s affections! Particularly from his father, of whom her own affections, she would now admit, were fond. She knew it was absurd to feel that way in the face of his cruelty; in the face of all their distances and differences. But she could not help it. Truthfully however, it was much less absurd than what she was hearing about Legolas.

_“I assure you, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain in the guard.”_

She turned away from him, knowing her face betrayed the hurt she felt. A few months prior, she had dream not unlike this. At the time, she was embarrassed by it, had pushed it deep into the recesses of her mind, tried to ignore it. But now, it came floating to the surface with startling clarity; for it was happening before her. Except the words were all wrong, and this was no dream but a nightmare. For in the dream, it was not his son’s affections which Thranduil revealed.

_“Perhaps he did once. Now, I’m not so sure.”_

Thranduil moved to pour himself a glass of wine, and had she not known better she might have thought him nervous, trying to hide his face from her. For his manner was like that of somehow concealing something. His words must somehow be a trap. What was he hiding, why would he mention such things to her? Of course, he didn’t want her to be pledged to Legolas. She was but a Silvan; he was royalty. Such a match would never happen, let alone be looked upon favourably by the kingdom. She had considered this implausibility before, but naturally it was not Legolas she had been trying to talk herself out of caring for. Baffled, she blurted this out before she could consider herself:

_“I do not… think you would allow your son to be pledged to a lowly Silvan elf?”_

She then cursed inwardly, why must she always be so blunt? Her heart raced, for it was still not Legolas whom she had in mind. And by his manner: turned from her, all but inhaling wine, she couldn’t help but hope for a dizzy moment that maybe he didn’t either.

_“No, you are right. I would not.”_

Her racing heart slammed back to a normal rhythm. How foolish she was. She felt her face contort in disappointment, betrayal.

_“Still, he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none.”_

How cruel he was to torment her like this! His words were like a physical blow. Who was it who gave hope where there was none? Who had appointed her the youngest Captain in the Guard? Who made specific requests she be the one to gather patrol news and report directly to him, against standard procedure? Who had, more than once, opened to her the glacier of his face to reveal brief, haunting smile? Who had allowed her into his private chambers, only to discourage her from loving another? No, it was not she who gave false hope. She cursed her foolish heart.

She had once believed that the Elvenking’s cruelty was not as thorough as it seemed. That it was like ice; built up by winters of tragedy, and waiting to thaw. She now saw the small warmth left within him was buried too deep. No sunlight would make a mark upon it, and he would continue to be trapped; alone with his fears and his demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... so indulge me for a second? I know this is pretty much shippy trash, but I have some extra explanation if anyone's interested (I know, I know, I'm taking it way too seriously... *sweats nervously*)
> 
> Anyway, I'll explain a little bit. I tried to work the ship into the conversation/argument, and tried to show that, while they were disagreeing, deep down they car for each other. I'm not sure how convincing it was, seeing as it's a lot to cram onto a two minute scene... I definitely had to do a lot of legwork around Tauriel's feelings, and again not sure if it worked in the end?
> 
> I also tried to leave it in a place that would lead onto/explain some of the tension between them in BOTFA. Like I think Tauriel's “there is no love in you” means a whole different thing if you imagine it comes from a place of personal grief about his coldness? And it could also explain why he’s bitter, and then is kind when she most needs it ("because it was real"). Because at the end of the day, when all is said and done, he cares about her and can empathize. Even if she can't love him anymore, and even if he's not willing to love her, he'll let his walls down when he can. God, maybe I'll just write another fic about that haha...
> 
> I also think Tauriel's relationship with Kili isn't undermined by this headcannon-ish thing either? Because after this conversation, she thinks that loving Thranduil/love in general is a painful, lost cause. And then she meets a handsome, easy-going dwarf (who is totally into her) and is struck with how simple, warm and wonderful love could be, so throws herself into it.
> 
> I don't know. I only know that I love thinking about this stuff. If you cared enough to read this, firstly thank you, and secondly, please let me know what you think!! :)


End file.
